


These Fingertips Are Yearning

by AnonBeMe



Series: I Came To My Senses [1]
Category: The 100 (TV), clexa - Fandom
Genre: Clexaweek2018, F/F, Free day, I created a new world... I will not apologize, and a beating heart that holds a burning spark, melancholic and frail, there's a transparent barrier, this is what I see - this is what I wish to touch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 15:12:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13860354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonBeMe/pseuds/AnonBeMe
Summary: Oh, how Lexa yearns to feel her skin, to find out if she is as warm and soft as she looks.So much that she aches.





	These Fingertips Are Yearning

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a one shot I wrote for clexaweek2018, free day.
> 
> It is also the first installment of my series 'I Came To My Senses' in which I will be exploring our five senses.
> 
> As for this one shot, I badly want to write a second installment, but as of this moment I cannot promise it will happen. Thus, I mark it complete.
> 
> I truly hope you will enjoy it <3  
> ~anonbeme

## 

These Fingertips Are Yearning

 

 

Under the gleaming sun lies a land verdant and lush, where fields stretch over hills and draws soft curves on the horizon. If stray feet were to travel the distance, they would pass through forests and villages, and they would cross creeks and rivers, and if their hungry minds urged them onwards, they would at last find themselves face to face with Wall. 

Wall is barrier, a transparent, but a very much solid border that draws an evident groove in the dirt and an infuriatingly – these hungry minds and stray feet would say – unwavering obstacle in their path.

There are those who accept this as the end of the world, and then there are those who defiantly dedicate their lives to prove it false. 

It boggles the mind that no one has ever found a gap in Wall, and even more so, that no one has ever begun the journey at one point, then followed Wall as far as it goes and returned to the starting point. Did these adventurous souls find what they were looking for on their quest, a gap, an opportunity to go where no one has ever gone? Or did they face the end of life, either by the hand of threats in their path, or by the merciless face of time?

The stories are many; folklore; myths; songs. But they are just that: not proven true. 

Under the gleaming sun lies a village with crooked houses and dirt path roads: Woodstown. It is surrounded by hilly fields and fresh air, and if one were to stroll along the main road through the village and take a left turn by the first crossroads, after twenty minutes they would reach the forest. Were one to stroll all the way through the forest, they would reach a point where the trees thin out and a meadow lies at their feet. 

That meadow adjoins Wall.

In the corner of the meadow stands a large oak tree with a proud crown and sturdy roots, and in its afternoon shadow sits a rock the size of a barrel wrapped in wild grass and privacy.

That rock is a place of utmost importance to a young woman just seventeen summers old: Lexa Trikru, daughter of the Mayor of Woodstown. 

Under the gleaming sun, Lexa crosses the meadow with weary feet and heavy shoulders. No one ever said it was easy to be the daughter of a mayor, but everyone expects her to act like it. And while she does feel proud under her father’s approving eyes, she does not feel the spark she knows dances in his heart; the spark that fills a soul with the fuel it needs to always strive to be better. 

_‘The citizens of Woodstown will need you soon enough, and hear me well, for I know it deep in my heart, that leadership runs in your veins and fairness blooms in your chest. You will take care of everyone as I have, and you will succeed in guiding them toward prosperity.’_

Her father’s voice buzzes in the back of her mind – lately, it seems, it always does – and when it gets too loud, too unbearable, she goes to visit her secret spot

Lexa rounds the large oak tree and slides onto the rock, legs pulled up and folded under her. Once seated she lifts her head to take in the canvas that stretches out before her. What a remarkable sight! While most citizens of Woodstown speak of Wall like it is a curse, Her heart tells her a much different story. When she sits on her rock and observes this other place on the other side of the neverending window, she thinks she feels that spark in her heart she is meant to feel for her village. 

A cool breeze caresses her neck where the afternoon sun has left beads of sweat, and her eyes slide shut for a moment as she enjoys its soothing touch. She inhales slowly through the nose and fills her mind with the mild scent of flowers that grow in the blanket of meadow grass. She can hear birds singing, and if she listens carefully, she can hear trickling water from the creek she passed on the way.

Lexa’s eyes shoot open, and they fill with a sorrow as she looks upon the world on the other side of Wall, so badly wishing she could experience its sounds and smells. She wants to know if the winds are cool and mild, if they, too, become harsh and freezing as the ground covers with snow. And she expects the sun to spread warmth onto its land as it does onto Woodstown, but she will never know because Wall is solid and a door to the other world is just a bedtime story as far as she knows.

_‘Know you place, child. Your duty is not at the end of this world, for what lies there is uncertain, if anything lies there at all. You duty is right here. Right here in this office. Best you focus on that.’_

Lexa’s father is wrong. What lies at the end of this world is not uncertain at all. The warmth that swells in her heart is proof of this. What lies at the end of this world is a barrier that cannot be crossed, and that is certain. What lies on the other side of that barrier is more land – a different land, yes, unknown, yes – and that is certain as well. Uncertainty lies only where a weak heart fears to go, and her heart is anything but weak.

When Lexa stands before Wall, she feels the spark in her heart, and this truth is perhaps the most certain of all. 

The world on the other side is strange, but she feels drawn to it nonetheless, feels curiosity seep through her veins the more she learns. At first glance, it looks much the same. Wall seems almost a mirror with hills and fields and beautiful meadows. She knows this because she has traveled along Wall in both directions as far as half a day’s journey will take her. But a closer look reveals that the horizon is not a soft, curvy line like the one from the viewpoint of Woodstown Hill, no, the strange world’s horizon is jagged and sharp. It is created by giant rocks that rises from the ground. They can be as tall as a hundred men – a thousand, even – and cast shadows larger than the greatest fields she has ever seen.

Lexa knows of them, knows what they look like, even though she has never stood before one in her life. 

She never will.

Because Wall does not have a door.

Sometimes she wonders if Wall exists only to tempt fragile minds; if whoever is lured into its promises of new adventures will pay with their life because they let greed into their heart. Or, maybe it is a challenge and not a warning. Maybe it is there as a reminder to never settle for anything less than what the heart desires. 

For Lexa’s heart does desire.

It yearns.

Like dying flames so desperately licking at ashen covered logs, craving more of this nutriment it depends on to exist.

Leading an entire village to greatness… It should be enough, should it not? How many want the title to their name, but does not ever get the opportunity to pledge its honor? Surely, a great number. And how many villagers, born into unfair circumstances, depend on a fair leader with a strong heart to fight their cause? A much greater number, she knows for a fact.

There is pride written in the name of her heritage, and while it does straighten her spine, and lifts her chin toward the sky, it does not shine as bright as the spark in her heart. She may not yet be an adult, but this is a truth of utmost certainty: Lexa does not yearn to walk in her father’s footsteps for they lay on a path already set out, one that will take her away from Wall, one that will quell the light in her heart.

She may not yet be an adult, but she soon will be; two Sundays from now. When the day arrives, she is expected to pledge her loyalty to Woodstown. What will happen on that day is the only uncertainty in her life. 

For Lexa never makes a promise she does not intend to keep. 

She blinks, shakes her head lightly. She must have gotten lost inside her mind again – something that happens quite often when she visits this place. 

The afternoon sun already hangs low on the sky, which means she must return home soon if she wants to avoid another reprimand from her father. But she cares not for reprimands right now, nor does she care about expectations. She cares only for the growing pit in her heart. It aches, and it needs to be soothed, and only one thing is capable of just that; only one person.

So she waits a little longer, and as the evening sun begins to color the world warm and golden, her waiting finally pays off. 

On the other side of Wall, from behind a gathering of bushes, something stirs. She knows who it is even before the figure appears; the top of a golden haired head is visible above the green leaves and the red berries, swiftly moving toward her. The anticipation alone ignites the spark in her heart, and she feels the warmth spread in her chest and the smile pull at her lips. 

_‘Wall possesses the power to infest your mind. It is a curse of the worst kind. Stay away, child. For all that is good, you stay away!’_

Watching the young girl with fair hair step around the bushes and into clear sight, Lexa concludes that her father is wrong about Wall. She has come to this conclusion many a time. 

The young girl lifts a hand and waves, a greeting gesture that Lexa copies. Lexa’s father would call her a demon, but her heart calls her a friend, and right now her heart beats stronger and much louder than any of her father’s lessons. 

The girl on the other side of Wall is as young as Lexa: seventeen summers. Lexa knows because the girl told her, not with her voice – Wall is as soundproof as anything can be – but with pen to paper. They do not share a written language, but they do share stories nonetheless. 

If only Lexa knew her name… 

Oh, but it does not matter, for Lexa’s heart knows her as the girl shining brighter than the sun, and therefore a name is not required so long as no ears are to witness it spoken from her tongue. And even if there were, she would not think to speak it at all. If anyone found out… If anyone knew… She cares not for the punishment that would surely rain upon her if her father knew. The consequence that would follow, however, terrifies her: he would put an end to it, make sure she never faced Wall again; that is a certainty. 

As the girl approaches, Lexa slides off the rock she sits on and meets her halfway. They share a smile both shy and unabashed, and then they sit down in the grass, cross-legged, one on each side of the transparent barrier.

A daughter of the sun, she thinks, feeling suddenly self-aware. Her eyes fall to her lap and she has to force her hands to rest on her thighs as to not fidget. She is reminded of the small object that lies safely in the pocket of her pants, a gift for her friend. She slides her hand into her pocket and curls her fingers around the object. The surface is smooth, and because she already knows what it is, she feels its existence take form against her palm. As she pulls out her hand, the object along with it, she looks up to meet the eyes she know are studying her.

Lexa lifts her hand, unfolds it so the object lies in her palm, open and inviting. She tethers her eyes to the girl on the other side, afraid she might combust if she has nothing to hold onto, and she watches as eyes, blue like a summer sky, falls to the object in her hand. 

The daughter of the sun has a magnificent smile, and it widens with joy as Lexa lifts the object, pinched between two fingers, for better display. 

It is a small figure, carved in the finest wood Lexa could find. A fish. A small, chubby little creature like those that swim in the creek. She spent hours, too many to count, taking care of the minuscule details, every single tiny scale. At last, she oiled it to give it a warm shine, and to better withstand the changing weather. 

The girl moves a finger in a circling motion, prompting Lexa to spin the fish around, and Lexa obliges with a smile – she knew it was coming. Eyes, blue and curious, study the fish as it slowly spins around its axis helped on by deft, steady fingers.

With a grin the girl pulls out a small book and a small pen from her pocket, as Lexa knew she would. The first time it happened, Lexa had gaped at her with wide eyes, because in her world paper is rare, books even more so – it is only the most holy of words that are collected as such. On the other side of Wall, it seems, blank paper is always carried in pockets. Blank paper. Paper intended as a tool to capture the world, to keep as a memory, or as a study, she presumes.

Lexa marvels at this peculiar activity, and she wishes she knew how to capture the world on the other side into physical things to keep and to study. The girl has shown her the creations she keeps in her little book, magnificent animals and beautiful landscapes – this is how Lexa knows what the giant rocks on the horizon looks like up close – and some of these creations, Lexa wants to carve into wood.

Alas, she cannot. 

If her father were to find out…

Silence buzzes in her ears. There is a faint chirping, far away, crickets humming out their evening song. Soon, more crickets will join the choir, and the silence will wash away. She is already late. She dreads going home to face her father, to find him waiting for her with disappointment swimming in his eyes. He is a good man, a well-respected profile in the community, and a great father. He does not deserve the disobedience of an ungrateful daughter, but when she looks at the girl before her, she does not know how to be anything else. 

To yearn for what lies on the other side of Wall must be written on the inside of Lexa’s heart, tattooed into every fiber of her soul. 

It must be. 

Or else she cannot explain the rhythm of her heart, so persistent, so tragically persistent, beating for something it can never have. 

It is a fool’s game. 

And Lexa is the fool. 

So be it. 

As the girl works with her pen and her book, Lexa places the fish on the ground, a thumb’s distance from Wall. It is the newest addition to a row of little carved figures, each and everyone representing something from her world. In a way, they represent Lexa as well, for they are her favorite things; small, beautiful fragments of a world that on many accounts are nothing but ordinary. 

There is a small, lanky lizard like the one that sometimes crawls up the shadow side of her house, its tail curling into a spiral as it hides from the baking sun. Its scales are a deep blue that shimmers when exposed to direct light, just like the blue eyes before her. 

There is a water lily with petals spread wide. They were her mother’s favorite. Whenever Lexa visits the graveyard, she always brings a water lily to place by her tombstone. 

There is a bird, too. An eagle-like creature with widespread wings and determination in its eyes. It represents the freedom Lexa wishes she had, and the opportunity to fly high above the clouds, maybe even high enough to cross Wall. 

Lexa looks up, follows the blank surface of Wall as it reaches for the sky and continues onward. It seems endless. She has pondered this a lot. If Wall is endless, how does the sun pass through? For it rises on one side and sets on the other. 

_‘It is not something a young mind such as yours should occupy itself with. The sun is its own master, and it is not our place to question its purpose. Nothing good will come of it.’_

_‘But Father, it passes through. It must mean there is a window in Wall. High up, th–’_

_‘–Lexa, enough!’_

_‘But–’_

_‘–No! Even if there were a window, there are not ladders enough in the world to reach it. Or rope enough to get back down. Do you see now? It is foolish to waste thoughts on it. Now, let it go!’_

Lexa tried. 

Her father has an impressive office at the town hall with a sturdy desk of the finest oak and the Woodstown flag – a green canvas with a golden oak leaf in its center – hanging proudly on the wall. Lexa has spent many hours of her youth in that room, practising a rank spine and a stoic face while observing her father’s meetings with lords and ladies from nearby villages.

She knows the game, knows that politics are more than simply just wanting good things for your village. It requires negotiations, and conflicts are inevitable. Only a leader with a strong mind and a fair heart will succeed. Compromises will have to be made, and sometimes you will have have to give up something you would like to keep in order to get something you badly need. 

There is a part of her that knows that her father is right: Leadership runs in her veins and fairness blooms in her chest. All his lessons, getting to know all aspects of the game, have drawn her in. She has soaked up his knowledge and worked hard to please him. 

She wants Woodstown to thrive and grow.

She wants to be fair.

But then the afternoon will come, and sunlight will spill through a window and color the room with warmth, and her eyes will slide toward the open blue sky, and her mind will wander far away, out through the window, up into the sky, over the clouds, toward Wall, and whatever lies beyond its barrier. 

Far, far away.

Lexa’s eyes slide back down Wall and stops when they meet blue eyes. The girl on the other side, the holder of sunshine, looks at her with a mix of curiosity and concern. Lexa smiles to let her know that there are no reason to worry, but the smile feels forced, and it draws a sad sigh from her lungs.

The girl bites her lip, thoughtful and hesitant. She then lifts the book up for Lexa to see her creation, and Lexa’s eyes widen as she suddenly stares at a true copy of herself. It is like a mirror, and while Lexa has looked into a mirror many times, she has never felt this special before. Important and valuable to an unfathomable extend. It seems almost a… foolish thing to say, but that is how she feels when she sees herself copied into that special book of creations.

As Lexa seeks out blue eyes, she finds a shyness she has never seen before; it becomes her. Lexa wishes that she, too, had a book with a creation of her sunshine girl to always carry in her pocket. It would make it easier to sit through an entire afternoon of lessons conducted by her father and his high expectations.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

Probably not.

The girl looks up at the darkened sky above their heads; they both know what it means. Lexa sighs, waits for the girl to meet her eyes, and then, as if they had planned it, they both stand up. 

Lexa presses her palm against Wall and watches the girl do the same. Their fingers align, and not for the first time does Lexa find the small hand cute. There is a force that awakens in Lexa’s chest, an explosion that ripples through her very core. She swallows a sudden dryness in her throat, and then she brushes a fingertip along the contours of the hand that is still pressed against the barrier; one finger at a time, from tip to palm. 

Oh, how Lexa yearns to feel her skin, to find out if she is as warm and soft as she looks.

So much that she aches.

So much that her head falls forward, weakened by her foolish desire for something she cannot have. Wall is cold against her forehead, but her chest is swelling with fire. She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, seeking strength to compose herself. When she raises her head again, the girl looks at her with eyes swimming with a tragedy Lexa knows all too well.

And because there is nothing else to do, Lexa musters a soft smile and presses her palm against Wall once again. The girl copies the gesture and takes one step back.

Lexa steps back, too. 

The girl waves a goodbye – a _see you again_ , Lexa hopes – and spins on her heel and walks away, back where she came from behind the bushes with the red berries.

As Lexa walks back across the meadow, through the forest, and along the main road to get back home, she feels the spark in her heart slowly wear out. 

Two Sundays from now, she is expected to pledge her loyalty to Woodstown: will she stay, or will she seek her purpose at the end of the world?

Under the gleaming stars, she stops outside her house. The lights are still on, and so she knows that this moment calls for another, most urgent matter: a disappointed father.

She curls her hand, the one she pressed against Wall, into a soft fist and feels the tips of her fingers press against her palm. For a moment she allows herself to believe they are the fingertips of the girl that holds the sun, and it is all she needs to gather the strength it takes to walk up the three little steps and walk through the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I really, really appreciate it! <3
> 
> Any comments or thoughts you may have, gimme :)  
> You can also find me on twitter (@anonbeme) and tumblr (@anonbemetoo)


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